More stifled laughter distracted him.
He glanced down at Anatolius, his expression that of a rabbit in a snare, and then soldiered valiantly on.
“-fair Eudoxia, she of the moon-white bosom-”
A strident laugh drowned out the poet’s faltering voice.
It was Theodora. Having thus been granted permission, the guests joined in.
Crinagoras sat down.
“No, no. You must continue, Crinagoras,” Theodora ordered. “Your poetry is well known at court and we wish to savor it from the lips of its creator.”
Crinagoras swayed to his feet.
Fortuna proved more merciful than Theodora. Before he could continue, two guards appeared, dragging the holy fool between them.
Theodora turned to face the arrivals, demanding to know what had happened.
The guards were husky young men, with broad shoulders and wide, bland faces. The fool hung between them, limp as an empty old wine skin, his long hair flopping down and obscuring his features.
One of the guards displayed something that flashed in the sunlight.
“A knife? He intended to assassinate someone?”
“He was trying to steal it from the kitchen, highness,” the guard replied. “We caught him with a sack full of imperial silver.”
Theodora addressed their captive. “You truly are a fool. I favor you with an invitation to inspire my guests and you attempt to steal imperial silver. Do you realize the punishment you face?”
The fool twisted convulsively, slithering from his startled guard’s grasp. Quick as a striking snake, he snatched a gold bee from Theodora’s hair.
The two guards stood dumbfounded.
Theodora rose slowly from her chair. Though shorter than the guards, she seemed to tower over them. “What if this man had been an assassin?”
Her tone was low, but many of those present blanched at the venom it carried.
At her gesture, other armed men who had been stationed around the perimeter of the dining area rushed to take charge of the errant guards.
“Pray that you contract the plague immediately,” Theodora told the two unfortunates. “Your demise then would be considerably more pleasant than what I am contemplating as a reward for your failure to carry out your duties.”
“Please return the knife to the empress,” put in the fool. “With this fine ornament, and the other items I’ve chosen, I would otherwise be over-compensated for the entertainment I provided.”
Theodora smiled. “You have a mime’s wit, fool. Are your wits nimble enough to explain why you should not join these two in the dungeons? You have, after all, admitted to stealing imperial property.”
“Could there be a more heinous crime than stealing from the emperor and empress, our most generous benefactors? Yet how many present would learn that lesson if no one dared to show them by example?”
Anatolius realized from Theodora’s laughter that the fool’s body would remain intact for another day.
Then again it might all have been planned. “Let’s hope this is part of the entertainment too, for the sake of those guards,” Anatolius whispered. “What do you think, Crinagoras?”
There was no reply.
Glancing sideways, Anatolius was horrified to see his friend had vanished.
If he had chosen to flee the banquet without Theodora’s permission, it would be the worse for him.
Then he noticed the pale hand by the stool next to him and the remainder of the poet sprawled in the grass under the table.
Crinagoras had managed to make his escape by losing consciousness.
***
Gaius straightened up and turned away from the motionless body sprawled on the hospice cot. He shook his head at Anatolius, waiting nearby. “Nothing more than a bad bump on the back of his skull. Nothing to worry about.”
The supine figure stirred and whimpered. “Is it safe to move now?”
“You’ll feel some swelling there, Crinagoras,” Gaius told him. “That’s to be expected. However, if the swelling happens to spread to your armpits or groin, do let me know.”
Crinagoras sat up, prodded the back of his head, and let out a yelp of pain. His face darkened. “It was awful, Gaius. Everyone was laughing at me.”
Anatolius could sense anguish in his friend’s tone. “It was Theodora’s idea of a jest,” he said kindly. “Whenever the empress laughs, her guests have to pretend to laugh as well.”
“They sounded very convincing to me.”
“You must have noticed that the empress certainly appeared to be enjoying your recitation,” Anatolius said. “I’m sorry I had to rush you away from the banquet, but you seemed exceedingly groggy and she kindly allowed us to leave before the entertainments concluded.”
“I don’t get very many patients arriving in imperial carriages,” Gaius observed with a grin.
“You see? The empress lent you her own carriage. Few at court can say that!”
“No doubt Theodora wanted to ensure you’d remain with us and so would be available to entertain her further in the future,” Gaius observed.
Crinagoras struggled to his feet. “Perhaps,” he grudgingly conceded. He looked down and scuffed his boot on the floor. “I do wish she’d had the bear dung cleaned out first.”
“Was anyone else reciting?” Gaius asked.
“Lucilius,” Anatolius said. “One of the court poets.”
“Not to mention a literary thief,” Crinagoras put in hotly. “Although I will admit jests about physicians have always been favorites of mine.”
“Do you know why a poet is deadlier than a viper?” Gaius replied.
“Oh, I haven’t heard that one! Why is that so?”
“In order to kill, a viper needs to open its mouth and sink its fangs into the victim, whereas a poet needs only to open his mouth.”
Anatolius laughed and took Crinagoras by the elbow.
“Nothing like a bit of humor to ease the pain of your patients, is there, Gaius? We’d better be on our way.” He stopped in the doorway. “Since we’re here, however, I understand Hypatia has been helping you?”
“She just went to the other wing to look in on her favorite patient. If you wanted to stop by and give her some encouragement, Anatolius, it would be a kind gesture. She is a good worker, even if she does need to be reminded now and then that there are sufferers other than the one she’s devoted to.” He raised a warning hand. “Oh, one thing more, Crinagoras. You must not do anything strenuous for a few days. That means no exertion or heavy work and whatever you do, no writing for the time being either. There’s no telling what damage fanning those blazing fires of divine inspiration might cause you right now.”
Suppressing a smile, Anatolius thanked Gaius for his advice and hurried Crinagoras through the crowded hospice to the wing where Hypatia was working.
Directed further by a passing assistant, they soon found the hallway indicated and walked down it, glancing into each room.
“That’s Hypatia’s voice!” Anatolius suddenly declared. “I wonder if this is the room where this favorite patient of hers is-”
He stepped quickly back from the doorway.
“Mithra!” he cursed and hastily ushered Crinagoras outside.
***
“I’m not surprised John isn’t here, but the news I have is important. I’ll wait.” Anatolius was crossing the atrium on his way to the garden before Thomas could reply.
“There’s no one here but Peter and myself,” Thomas informed him as he followed.
Dusk had settled over the city. Light from torches set in the garden’s peristyle glinted on foliage, leaving the deepening shadows beneath trees and bushes untouched.
Anatolius dropped on to the bench beside the pool, “I saw Hypatia at the hospice a little while ago. I would have thought she’d be back home by now.”
“She will be here soon. Gaius lends her an escort home, if I can’t meet her myself,” Thomas replied. “However, just to change the subject, what do you make of that strange object?”
He pointed to the olive tree. A brass plate to which three or four short leather strips were attached hung from a branch. Taking the odd contraption down, he handed it to Anatolius. “I bought it from one of those vendors of trifles you see here and there.”